Lae’zel lives for the heat of battle: the rush she feels as her blade slices flesh, the thrill of her opponent’s entrails spilling, even the high of her own blood spilt in honorable injury. She craves it. But just as she desires the beading of sweat down her face and the splatter of blood on her armor, Lae’zel is not incapable of other desires. Sex, to Lae’zel, is a comparable excitement, filled with zaps of pleasure that follow their own conquest. The immediate release of an org*sm produces a similar system-shocking high as slaying an enemy.
But ever since this tadpole made a home in her head, Lae’zel desires more.
It is the fault of the wayward adventurer who banded a group of incompetent fools together, dragging Lae’zel along with her. They camp together, sleep amongst each other—eat and converse like friends. Lae’zel is remiss to call any of these lowlives her friends, but they have their uses in battle, and so Lae’zel stays. No one will get in the way of her goals, and certainly not this mismatched band of idiots.
“You gonna finish that, Lae?”
Lae’zel sneers at Karlach. “My name is Lae’zel. You would do well to remember it.”
Karlach’s shoulders shake in a laugh, and Lae’zel’s hackles raise. “‘Course I know that. I can remember anything.” She thumps her chest, her tail swishing behind her, relaxed. “Thanks for the meal,” she says to Gale, who immediately goes on a long tangent about the ingredients and methods used to produce the (admittedly delicious) stew he’s made.
Lae’zel refuses to admit that she won’t finish her meal, instead silently setting her bowl down beside the campfire and standing abruptly. One more second around these hopeless fools will send her stomach turning worse than it already is. She stalks toward the woods, checking her thigh to ensure her dagger is still strapped to it.
No one calls after her, already used to her independence. Lae’zel convinces herself she’s fine with that. The woods open up into a small clearing by the lake they’ve camped beside, and Lae’zel finds a suitable rock to sit upon, staring up into the sky. Memories flash in her mind of her homeland, agents of Vlaakith flying on mastered dragons and slaying the ghaik that once enslaved her people. She will ride with them one day—once she rids herself of this disgusting tadpole.
There is a sudden clearing of an unfamiliar throat. “All by yourself, soldier?”
Lae’zel jumps, hand darting to her dagger before realizing Karlach has followed her. She curses at herself for being so careless, lost in her own thoughts. Her eyes narrow, broadening her shoulders to appear more menacing. “What business is it to you, istik?” she snaps.
Karlach raises her hands. “I meant nothing by it,” she insists. “Just wondered if you might like company.”
Lae’zel thinks for a moment. Not so long ago, she would have vehemently rejected Karlach’s proposal. Unfortunately, times have changed, and so has Lae’zel. It is better to remain paired so that if they show signs of turning, they can be killed first. She sighs to herself, quietly enough to disguise as breathing, and moves an inch to the left, leaving enough space for Karlach’s imposing frame to fit beside her.
Karlach claps and rubs her hands together, smiling brightly as she settles onto the rock by the lake that Lae’zel’s claimed. For an extended moment, they do not speak. Lae’zel appreciates this, having come here for the quiet in the first place. The stars overhead seem brighter than usual, an array of twinkling lights that remind Lae’zel of home. The moon is full, swollen with light, an aura circling it like a crown.
“I never thought I’d get to come up here like this,” Karlach says, reverence in her voice. “To the surface, I mean. Free.” She is sensing the same aura, the same twinkling lights. Lae’zel glances at her. She’s smiling softly, staring up into the moon. Copper traces the curves and edges of her face, cutting her cheek and the bridge of her nose. She is…
Lae’zel returns her gaze to the sky, sighing quietly. “What I wouldn’t give to return to battle there,” she says. The Tears blink back at her, and she hopes they can feel her longing.
“You came from there, didn’t you?” Karlach startles her again from her rumination. “Which one?” she asks.
Lae’zel glances at Karlach, hesitant to answer. But then she is looking at the sky again, surveying its landscape and tracing the paths between stars and Tears and- “There,” she says, pointing directly ahead of Karlach. “Creche K’liir.”
“Is it beautiful there?” Karlach asks. Her eyes are wide, enraptured with Lae’zel’s exoticism for just long enough to let the question slip from her tongue. She snaps out of it with an amused chuckle, chastising herself for even asking. “Well, nevermind that. You don’t seem the type to care.”
“You are right,” Lae’zel admits. “I hadn’t bothered to see.”
“Makes sense,” Karlach says with a shrug. “I guess I didn’t pay much attention before, either. But with the tadpoles, I think I look at the world a little differently. Like I could turn tomorrow, you know?” Karlach looks down at her chest, and Lae’zel’s eyes follow hers. As if to punctuate her statement, her engine stutters slightly, glowing red hot under her skin.
She is too hot to touch, Lae’zel knows. But in that moment of existential uncertainty, teetering on the edge between life and death, Lae’zel feels a lurch in her chest that commands her to reach for Karlach’s hand over chest. Her hand lifts suddenly, as though it cannot be stopped. What would Karlach feel like? Taste like?
Lae’zel takes what she wants, conquers everything she desires. But Karlach cannot be taken, and Lae’zel is forced to wait. It is maddening, to want something that she cannot take.
She stands, the Tears ever-present in the background of her mind and body. Karlach asks what’s wrong, and Lae’zel cannot explain what she feels, so she insists it is nothing. Karlach nods at her like she understands, and Lae’zel crawls into the safety of her tent. There she stares at the aging canvas above her and shivers, missing the warmth Karlach radiates for the first time.
She is hshar’lak. She has no home, no queen. Lae’zel is no longer welcome among her people. And what does she have to show for it?
A devastation she has never known before overcomes her as her eyes sweep the camp. They don’t understand the severity of her situation. They laugh and eat and play light, pleasant music around the fire as their day ends jovially, expectant and hopeful of the next one. Lae’zel doesn’t know if she will ever feel jovial again.
Vlaakith will hunt her down with her highly skilled gish, and Lae’zel will fight them for the rest of her life. From that moment on, when she enters battle, she will hope to live not only for the thrill of a victory. She will hope she lives so that when she inevitably dies, it will be done by a kith’rack’s blade. Perhaps then the gods will forgive her for the sin of her betrayal.
She doesn’t voice this to anyone, of course. Her weakness is not to be conceptualized by her campmates; they cannot know she suffers. The most they know is that she demands to be left alone with her thoughts, and no one bothers her for days.
Karlach is the first to approach her again.
“I know you wanted space,” Karlach says, sheepish and shrinking her shoulders to appear less menacing for some reason, “but we were worried about you.”
“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel spits in anger. She is angrier than ever. “You speak lies. You all care only for the strength of my blade. We are allies, not friends.”
Karlach sighs, bringing a hand to her fiery hair. “Alright, I can’t promise the rest, but I was worried about you. Is that better?”
At this, Lae’zel’s back straightens and she leans backward, eyes narrowing as she assesses Karlach. She does not appear to be lying. But how can that be? “Why?” she finally asks, cautious and suspicious.
“You’re my-'' Karlach stops herself, her hand reaching for Lae’zel before remembering its limitations and falling to her side. She needs one more piece of infernal iron to cool her engine enough to be touched. Her campmates have looked everywhere with no success. They hope to find some in The Shadow-Cursed Lands, but it may be a lost cause; Lae’zel has not thought extensively about how she feels about that.
Besides, Karlach has insisted already that she’ll never return to Avernus. When Dammon told her she’d die otherwise, she only grew more steadfast. Though Lae’zel can admire that sort of dedication and courage, she feels something else in her chest that grows bigger the longer they spend on the surface, watching Karlach’s clock tick down. It feels like sorrow.
“Look, I know you don’t believe us. But we care about you. You just learned your demigod queen betrayed you and tried to have you killed. You’ll be tracked down by the guys you used to call your brothers and sisters, and they won’t show mercy. Hells, I’d be pissing myself in that situation,” she says, a little laugh in her tone where she jokes.
Lae’zel bites with her words where she cannot use her teeth. “I’m well aware of my situation, istik,” she snaps.
A silence falls between them. Karlach takes the moment to make a small step toward her, and Lae’zel feels the heat of her engine hum in her own chest. When Karlach stands at full height, she is several heads taller. A deplorable fluttering comes over her without her permission. “Look, Lae’zel,” Karlach says.
(Lae’zel misses ‘Lae.’)
“They may not accept you in their ranks again. And that’s a horrible thought, I know. But we’re here. We care. You aren’t alone.” She says it all in this horrid tone of voice, hushed and soft. Lae’zel would rip out her throat for talking to her like that before all of this happened, but Lae’zel is not that woman anymore.
Lae’zel lets Karlach’s words swirl in her head for so long, she wonders if she will still be waiting for her answer. When her eyes refocus, Karlach is there, smiling slightly, patient in ways that Lae’zel cannot fathom. Lae’zel speaks, measured and slow. “If I do not have my honor, if I do not have my queen, I do not know what to live for,” she admits quietly.
“What to live for?” Karlach repeats. She hums, bowing her head to rest her chin on her hand pensively. “Well, you didn’t ask me, but-”
“I never ask,” Lae’zel mutters, “yet you share your input anyway.”
Karlach laughs—the boisterous one that always catches others’ eyes. Lae’zel flinches. “Ignoring that. Anyway, ever since I found out my days were numbered, I live for the little stuff.” Her voice softens, warm like the honey that coats her bread in the morning. “The swaying of the grass, the sun on my back, the crickets at nightfall. The little stuff that reminds me I’m still kicking.”
Lae’zel scoffs. “A preposterous notion.” Then a brief pause. “But I will…consider your words.”
Karlach smiles then, wide and excited. “First time for everything, eh?” she says. Lae’zel swears at her, then abruptly closes the entrance to her tent, closing Karlach out. It makes Karlach laugh. “Goodnight, Lae’zel,” she says, and Lae’zel feels her mind burning where Karlach inhabits it, rushing through her veins, a volcanic river through her system.
Lae’zel has grown to…tolerate the istiks she’s been forced to camp with until they finally reach the nearest creche and remove these blasted tadpoles. Gale is quite skilled with his cooking, Shadowheart is infuriating most of the time, but a tolerable cleric, and the rest leave her well alone, which is how she likes it.
Well, not all of them. Karlach is ever-present, a flame in the center of their camp that keeps their spirits high. In other words, Karlach is the happiest barbarian that Lae’zel has ever met. Lae’zel has no room for such optimism. She is concerned with not becoming ghaik, first and foremost.
Karlach doesn’t seem to care about her concerns much.
“C’mon, one more song,” Karlach requests of Tav. She smiles and nods, and pulls her lute into her lap to pluck a jaunty tune. Lae’zel rolls her eyes as Karlach leaps to her feet, tapping her toes against the uneven dirt beneath her and jumping in place. She whoops and encourages them to join her, and one by one, each of them stands and begins to dance in place.
They start to pair up after a little while. Wyll and Astarion dance like it’s their thousandth time as dance partners. Gale and Shadowheart circle each other goodnaturedly, and finally, Karlach reaches toward Lae’zel with a polite hand. She’s beaming, laughing with the others as they hop around like idiots.
Lae’zel doesn’t know how to dance. Why would she? All she knows are the traditional ceremonial moves that githyanki practiced in her creche. Lae’zel eyes Karlach’s hand suspiciously. “C’mon, feisty. You can do it!”
“I am not ‘feisty,’” Lae’zel snaps, but she takes Karlach’s hand, never one to back off from a challenge. With a start, she realizes this is the first time they’ve been able to touch each other. It’s so much bigger than hers that her whole hand lands fully in the center of Karlach’s palm. In one smooth motion Karlach twists her under her hand, and she rolls into Karlach’s chest. A fluttering discomfort settles in her heart, and then Karlach is rolling her back out. She twists a little more gracefully this time, then looks up wide-eyed at Karlach, surprised and uncertain.
“Relax, Lae,” Karlach says softly, and Lae’zel’s inhibitions slowly begin to fall. They hop around each other in silly steps that make no sense to her, but she copies her all the same. Then, too soon, the song is over, and they all clap for Tav’s excellent musical skills.
“See?” Karlach says, tilting her head as she smiles at her. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Lae’zel doesn’t like to admit her own hesitations, but she does this time. “It was not so bad, Z’zish,” she agrees.
“Z-what?”
“Z’zish,” Lae’zel says, flushing in embarrassment over her slip of the tongue. “It means ‘flame.’”
“Oh no way, I get a Tir name? That’s so cool,” Karlach gushes, clasping her hands in front of her excitedly. “Now we both have nicknames.”
Lae’zel finally decides she doesn’t mind ‘Lae’ so much, anymore.
Lae’zel wakes slowly. It is a painful act to wake after a long battle, battered and painted with bruises that mar her already-dappled skin. She can feel the aching of her joints acutely, her right elbow worse than her left, the results of an old flaw in her training she’s never been able to shake that means she bears the weight of her sword unevenly in her hands.
It is when she remembers holding her sword that she stirs abruptly. Her breath stutters as she lurches forward, making herself dizzy from the sudden movement combined with the blooming pain in her abdomen. She swears under her breath, holding her forehead in her palm as she adjusts.
Flashes of the battle she’s just endured come to her in sudden zaps of memory, stabbing her brain with sharp points between the dull waves of an existing headache. She remembers slaying ghaik, false dream visitors, a mind-controlled red dragon, someone leaping in front of her as her vision faded, falling to her knees, blood striking her cheek—
“The Netherbrain,” Lae’zel gasps, her voice hoarse from disuse. She coughs, and Shadowheart is suddenly beside her bedroll, tutting at her. She procures water and hands it to her wordlessly. Lae’zel drinks greedily, the rawness of her throat only coming to her after attempting to speak. Her eyes dart across the room, searching, searching.
“Where is she?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at Shadowheart.
She raises her hands in surrender. “Easy, Lae’zel. You’ve only just woken. It’s only been a day or so.”
Lae’zel growls at her. “That doesn’t answer my question. Where is she?”
“The House of Hope, I’m afraid,” Gale interrupts, and Lae’zel’s heart skips a beat, dread felling her spirit in one swoop. “Don’t worry! She’s perfectly well. After the tadpoles were removed, she found herself in a precarious situation. It was either return to the Hells, or burn up in mere moments. I believe we have you to thank for her decision.” He smiles at her from the doorway, a tray of food and drink in his hands to bring to her.
Lae’zel doesn’t even have time to think about the tadpoles being removed. She feels relieved, of course, her mind now noticeably empty, but there are more pressing matters to attend to. She never thought she’d say such a thing.
“Take me to her,” she insists, her voice still hoarse.
Gale shakes his head. “None of that now. You were on the brink when we managed to stabilize you. There’s no point in pushing yourself when—”
“I will not ask again, shka’keth,” Lae’zel snaps, throwing her bedroll open and rolling to her feet. She sways when she gets there, not quite ready to stand, but not caring. She has to see to believe it. She has to know.
They look at each other before looking at her, and seem to come to a silent agreement. “The portal can be reopened, I suppose,” Shadowheart muses. “We still have the necessary components.”
“Do not follow me,” Lae’zel requests. “I must confront her alone.”
Gale raises an eyebrow, but nods his agreement. Shadowheart guards her back, and Lae’zel is grateful for one last stand, one last fight before her.
“Z’zish,” Lae’zel calls out into the empty halls of the House of Hope. “Z’zish, Karlach,” she repeats, but her voice is too weak, too little. She’s pushing herself too far, panting as she drags herself down the hallway by gripping the walls. She knocks a painting to the ground in her haste, its gilded corner crashing to the ground with a thump that echoes loudly in the eerie howling of the Hells. She reaches the Feast hall, the table cleared of its previous meal, skeletons emptied and corners cleaned. If she had a moment, she’d appreciate the work that Hope has put into returning her house to its former glory. She does not have a moment, however. She must find Karlach now.
The only thing that’s been haunting Lae’zel’s thoughts has been the thought of Karlach’s engine burning up above the surface, how frightened she must have been—how lonely it must have felt. Gale described them quickly sending her to Hope to save her, but Lae’zel can see it now, the fight in Karlach’s eyes at the notion of returning to Avernus for good, forced to live somewhere she despises. Who convinced her to go? It drives Lae’zel mad not to know any of it, torn up at her own weakness for not retaining consciousness until the end of their battle to be there for her.
Lae’zel loses her battle again, in the House of Hope. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath as her wounds threaten to reopen, splitting and searing across her stomach. She has failed—she has failed Karlach twice.
Then suddenly, hopeful and quiet: “Lae?”
Lae’zel freezes, turning her head to stare down the hall where Karlach’s hesitant voice had called from. There she is, standing tall, in the clothes she met her in, a godsend. “Z’zish,” Lae’zel whispers. Then she is crawling to her feet, slow and agonized, holding her stomach like it’s the only thing keeping her in one piece. And maybe it is, with the way her chest pulses with fire and fear.
Karlach meets her halfway, breaking into a slight jog as she rushes forward. Lae’zel is slower, but Karlach is patient, and when she is finally within full view, she is smiling.
Lae’zel doesn’t know what to say. Her breaths are still heavy, but they leave her lungs a little easier. Questions zip through her head so fast she can’t finish them before the next begins.
Were you scared? Were you angry? Do you forgive me?
“How are your wounds?” Karlach asks softly, and Lae’zel despairs, knowing she’s failed Karlach thrice for not saying any of them.
Lae’zel looks away. “They are fine,” she mutters, a flush rising to her cheeks that speaks to her embarrassment and shame. “And yours?” she asks.
“Not so bad, since getting spirited away down here,” Karlach says. She holds a hand to her chest, over her engine, as she speaks. “Hope’s helped me out immensely. Can’t thank her enough for letting me shack up down here.”
There is a lot they aren’t saying. It’s driving Lae’zel mad, so she charges forth. “You said many times you refused to come here, even if it meant dying on the surface. What changed?” she asks, her eyes narrowed suspiciously, like she can’t fathom a reason why.
Karlach’s eyes widen in disbelief, before she tosses her head back in a full laugh. “Really, Lae? You can’t think of anything?”
“You were quite adamant before,” Lae’zel continues, ignoring her. “You made it very clear to me, against my best efforts, that you would rather die there than come here. So I ask again: why?”
“Oh, you’re serious,” Karlach says, blinking rapidly. Her laughing smile is replaced by a kinder, more subtle grin. “I just thought you were messing with me.”
“I would not ‘mess’ with a matter so important,” Lae’zel insists. Her impatience is starting to leak into her tone, and Karlach picks up on it with her usual grace. She clears her throat, then exhales harshly before releasing all her thoughts at once.
“Okay, I’ll be honest: I probably would have died up there, before. Gods know I wanted to. From the moment I left Avernus, I knew I’d never willingly come back. I’d resigned myself to my fate, prepared to die. But something very important changed all of that. Someone.” She pauses, letting Lae’zel absorb what she’s saying.
Then it hits her, all at once. Lae’zel’s eyes widen. She looks up at her, frowning—almost grieving. “...Me?” she says, so much confusion and vulnerability in her voice she hardly recognizes it.
“Yeah, Lae,” she says, quiet, earnest, hopeful. “You.”
Lae’zel doesn’t know how to cry gracefully. Gith warriors are not afforded that kind of outward display of weakness and emotion. But a tear slips so suddenly from her eye that she’s powerless to stop it, and then Karlach is reaching for her wet cheek, and a warm thumb swipes the trail left there across her skin, and she collapses into it. Her breaths stutter oddly in her throat, choked by a whining, pathetic noise, and Karlach hushes her, pulling her close and into her chest. There Lae’zel hiccups, overwhelmed by the sudden release of fear and devastation. She is grateful, she is hopeful, for the first time since Karlach first insisted on her own suicide.
“Do not frighten me like that again,” Lae’zel orders, when she gets her breaths under control. “You have much to answer for, making me believe that you intended to let yourself perish all that time and—tsk’va, you are incorrigible,” she says, and she knows she’s rambling, but she can’t bring herself to stop. Karlach is here. She will hold her for just the right amount of time, let her go exactly when she needs to, and require no explanation for either. An ideal and patient lover for a githyanki warrior, and yes, she loves her.
“I think I know what that word means, and I know,” Karlach says. Then she tilts Lae’zel’s chin up with one curled finger, forcing her eyes to meet hers, and it is almost too much to bear. “But I hope you’ll forgive me anyway, eh?”
“I have no choice,” Lae’zel says, and she allows herself a tiny smile.
Karlach beams, then dips her head to murmur directly in her ear. “I’ve got my own room here, if you’d like to come with me. I’ll play gently.”
Pleasure replaces the pain immediately at the thought, and Lae’zel truly grins then. “Hold back and I will make you regret it,” she teases, and Karlach giggles before whisking her away, the start of a new journey on the heels of their last.
